


Bring Me Sunshine

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Bondage, Insanity, M/M, Mindfuck, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-12
Updated: 2008-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam will do anything to prove that Tony Crane is a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me Sunshine

  
‘What’re you going to do to me?’

And Crane’s eyes widened, fractionally at best, but it was enough. Sam forced himself to ride the momentum of that minute flicker, held his gaze and kept his lips parted and allowed himself a wince at the bite of coarse rope around his wrists when Crane’s hired muscle pulled the knots especially tight. He waited until his hands were properly bound before putting on a token struggle, squirming feebly and flinching with a breath-rich gasp at the press of a knife to his throat.

Crane tucked his tongue against his cheek, staring hard at Sam with narrowed eyes that evaded his own intent gaze in favour of something else. ‘Step out a while, Phil,’ he requested softly.

The large man lowered the blade, disappeared as silently as he had entered. Crane stood up. ‘It’s gonna take my man out there some time to collect your DCI,’ he remarked coolly, his lowered eyes tracking his own thin fingers smoothing the empty surface of his desk.

Sam didn’t reply. Gene could take care of himself, always did.

‘So, in the meantime, what _am_ I going to do with you?’

Crane’s wandering fingers met the pocket watch left on his desk – bought from a pawn shop with Sam’s weekly food budget – and knocked it to the shag carpeting with a muffled thump. The hush of the room did not permit excess words, not that Sam would dare voice his speculations or his strategy. The fit-up had failed, clearly, but the next logical step had hit Sam in that whirlwind ride in Crane’s GT6 with such clarity that his ability to halt the progress of Tony Crane’s life, his power to change the future, was brilliantly assured.

If he couldn’t frame Tony Crane for imaginary wrongdoings, his best course of action was to lure the monster into a real crime.

Sam tested his bonds, glanced at Crane from beneath his lowered lashes. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something, Tony,’ he whispered disdainfully. Defiant enough to present a challenge, soft enough to suggest vulnerability: just the way Crane liked it.

And Sam knew Tony Crane, at this point in time better than Crane knew himself. He had taken on the rapidly expanding case file and the psych evaluation that went with it from the day of his promotion to DCI. He knew Crane’s ambition as the inverse parallel of his own – calculated, but not without passion. That depth of feeling was, in itself, the cause of his most monstrous acts, his bitter backlash against Eve’s betrayal the brutal proof of his fierce loyalty to his wife and his expectation of the same from her.

But Eve Crane hadn’t been his first rape victim.

‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, Inspector,’ Crane murmured as he rounded the desk, stepping almost warily into Sam’s personal space, ‘but don’t go thinking it’s a game you’re gonna win. Not when I’m holding all the cards.’ And Crane touched him, almost gentle glances of fingertips across the curve of his wrist where skin met rope, a hand rising to cradle the length of his neck, as though weighing its strength in his palm.

As far as Sam knew – and he knew so much, searched so deep – Tony Crane had never touched another woman outside the marriage bed. It had taken a wry, unrelated, and somewhat bitter comment from Maya to redirect Sam’s obsessive search into Crane’s sordid past, but he had eventually tracked down three of their number – not the frail rent-boys Sam had first thought to question, but grown men of an arrogant disposition, isolated markers on the map of Crane’s ascent through the gaming underworld who dared to hinder his path. Outwardly delicate men but dangerously charged with pride, reserved men who all refused to testify.

Sam had empathized with them, did so now, but couldn’t afford to join in their silence once this was over. That selfish reticence would defeat his entire purpose.

Crane’s lips grazing over his throat were tremulous and light, the warning of his teeth lacking the bite of a real threat. Sam wondered if maybe he was going to be the first of his victims, if Crane had ever done this before, if he would never have pursued this dubious pleasure with those uncountable others if Sam hadn’t… wasn’t about to…

He shuddered, flinched away from the culpability held in Crane’s hands ghosting over his body. ‘No,’ he said, too quiet for Crane who flicked him a derisive smirk and gripped Sam hard by the throat, the heel of his hand constricting his windpipe.

‘Oh, don’t play coy with me now, Tyler.’ The rasp of Crane’s voice gouged at his ear. ‘I can tell… you’re practically begging for this…’

 _She begged me to stop… you’ll beg just the same._

The echo of his future voice, not so different from his present one, and it was like being blinded again, the blurring black edges of oxygen deprivation blown out of all proportion.

 _Go on, Tyler, beg for your life. Just like she did._

‘Please…’ The hoarse sound struggled to leave his lips, fighting through the bruising fingers around his neck. In a wild moment, Sam wondered why he bothered speaking aloud if it was the future Tony Crane he was begging for mercy. The present one seemed to appreciate the effort all the same though, his grip relaxing, thumb chasing his Adam’s apple as Sam gulped down mouthfuls of air. Crane’s face was a study of open curiosity, his eyes shifting rapidly between Sam’s panting mouth, his unsteady eyes, his own fingers upon Sam’s throat as though his touch on another man’s skin came as a surprise now he came to see it.

‘You’re almost too easy.’ Crane’s voice was soft, mocking, and maybe somewhat nervous. ‘I could do anything I want with you, couldn’t I?’

 _You already are._ Sam squeezed his eyes shut, drawn to the irregular rhythms of respirator and heart monitor filling his ears. The pain throbbing outward from his temples was mounting again, a necessary reminder of everything at stake.

Sam let himself be pushed backward into the red, red wall. Didn’t resist when Crane forced his arms to bend upward at the elbow, trapping his bound hands against his own chest with the forward press of Crane’s hard body against him, Crane’s long thigh pushing between his legs, Crane’s open mouth dragging down his neck. Forced himself to calm the hell down. It’s not like this was the first time Sam had found himself in a situation like this, bound and helpless beneath a restless body, another’s hips moving rhythmically against his own…

The memory of Joni’s wet, bloodless face lit the darkness against his eyelids, drifting and superimposing itself over the ever-present ghost of Eve. She wasn’t screaming now, but there was whistling filling his senses, piercing hot like sunshine rushing through his veins, scalding him from the inside, the prison of Crane’s arms braced to either side of him not quite as warm as the sun from up above...

 _So much joy you can give, to each brand new bright tomorrow…_ Sam grinned, then chuckled, and he couldn’t stop it if he tried, soft laughter bubbling over in quiet triumph, because he had this right now, everything was going to work out just fine…

The loud crack of flesh on flesh, the sudden sting of the slap across his face, and Sam blinked back to the present. The rictus of his lingering grin pulled at the pain in his cheek as he focused back on the Tony Crane of the here and now through blurring, misted eyes. His face felt slightly wet, a salty taste on his lips.

‘You really are quite mad, aren’t you?’ Crane had drawn back slightly and was now regarding Sam with a mixture of trepidation and lust tensing across his flushed face. His hand came up again, too slow for another slap, and brushed at the tears staining Sam’s left cheek. ‘If I were in a charitable mood, I could almost feel sorry for you,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘But charitable doesn’t get you very far in my line of work, Inspector, and you look so good like this…’ His fingers lifted absently away from Sam’s wet face, rising to meet his own curious tongue. ‘You taste so good like this…’

The tension in the air crackled and broke like an electric current kicked into reverse, Crane moving so quickly that Sam never felt the motion that had drawn his bound wrists above his head, pinned beneath one of Crane’s unexpectedly strong hands while the other fumbled at his belt. Sam’s dazed senses flitted from touch to touch, registering the tongue lapping at his tears in a fleeting sensation of wet-on-wet only to disappear with the heavy weight of a hand closing around his cock and stroking him, fierce and uneven. Sam cried out, involuntarily, and immediately flushed with angry shame. No number of lonely nights in a bed scarcely big enough for one could excuse a reaction like that.

‘Keep it down, bitch…’ Crane hissed. His widened eyes flashed towards the beaded curtain of the otherwise open doorway, his hand stilling beneath Sam’s trousers. Sam gazed at him, saw the panic contorting his angular features, and felt his anger sharpen bitterly and snap refreshingly outward. _Fucking amateur._

Tony Crane was a disappointment, a loser. Nowhere near the man he would become, the wealthy, powerful, twenty-first century Tony Crane with his perfectly cut suits and haughty, covetous eyes.

Arching his hips forward, Sam fixed Crane with a hard, deliberate stare and released a low, unmistakably indecent groan. ‘Why don’t you make me?’ he taunted harshly. ‘Go on, _Tony_ , shut me up before I _really_ start begging, loud enough for your friend out there to hear-’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Crane’s long fingers clawed into the leather of Sam’s jacket, yanking him away from the wall and shoving him into the desk. Its sharp edge caught Sam hard in the hip, making him stumble before he could evade Crane’s hands on him again. As if he would.

Large hands, clenching tight with a faint quiver, grabbed Sam ruthlessly and slammed him face down over the desk, too quickly for Sam to avoid trapping his arms beneath his own weight, beneath the weight of Crane’s hand pressing down between his shoulder blades. Sam waited, gasping to regain the breath knocked out of him by the impact with the desk, listening to the sound resonate with Crane’s heavy panting above him. Time may well had frozen if not for desperate rush of breath filling the room, the echoing beep filling his head. The _whistling_.

The unmistakable sensation of his trousers and pants being pushed the rest of the way down was almost a relief to Sam, breaking the uncertain tension knotting itself into his spine. The brush of cool air against his exposed flesh heated with the sudden sting of an open palm against his arse. He repressed a smirk beneath a grunt of pain.

This, _this_ was the Tony Crane he had hoped to find.

‘I’ll shut you up alright, Tyler,’ Crane hissed, punctuating the threat with another hard smack to Sam’s arse. The metallic whisper of a lowered zip, an ugly, wet spitting sound traveled to Sam’s ear, dissonant against the clinical calm of hospital machinery. ‘Once I’m done with you…’ And there was the sound of flesh on flesh, sloppy and dirty and _wrong_ , ‘…once I’ve put you in your place…’

The press of Crane’s spit-slick cock against his tight entrance snapped at the protective barrier of Sam’s grim satisfaction. He had expected fingers, some manner of preparation, not this blunt violation and it is impossible, too much, stretching and tearing and Sam yells raggedly as Crane impales him, pulls back, thrusts deeper. And again.

And again.

Strange noises are pouring from his mouth, wordless things he can’t begin to identify but Crane certainly doesn’t like that, hissing and dropping forward to cover Sam’s body, to clamp a hand over his mouth. The shift of Crane’s rutting body changes the angle of his cock piercing through Sam, stabs hard at his prostate and there’s no way a hand can muffle the desperate moan tearing his throat from the inside. Beyond comprehension, Sam sobs his arousal into the palm of Crane’s hand, riding out the pain of the future, the unwilling pleasure of the present, Tony Crane all around him in hyper-bright Dolby 5.1 Surround, lit in the blue-green opposite of the sun bleeding out from the aquarium at the corner of Sam’s eye. He writhes beneath the weight of Crane’s body, drowning like the fish that never would.

‘Oh, yes…’ Crane’s voice is strained, breath thin. ‘Easy little bitch, just taking what I give you… so… _oh_ , so powerless…’

 _You’re powerless, Tyler…_

‘You’re perfect like this… so tight… bet it hurts, doesn’t it?’

 _…hurts, doesn’t it?_

 _Yes._ Yes, it hurts, and Sam wants to say so but Crane’s hand is gripping convulsively over his mouth as his hips pump faster, stifling his ability to say Yes. His ability to say No.

The flood of evidence filling him from the inside feels nothing like victory.

Something vital must have left his body along with Crane’s satiated cock, his world dissolving into the wet traces skimming down his thighs, the slick slide of space between Sam’s damp cheek and the smooth desk once Crane released his mouth. Sam was vaguely aware of hands lingering on his body, setting his clothing right again and refastening his belt with quick, efficient movements. Tony Crane was so very good at clearing away the proof of his crimes after the fact.

Except, as Sam found himself carelessly knocked to the floor, he could feel a viscous dampness seeping into his pants. Not terribly tidy, that.

Bile crept up his throat. Sam wondered when he had started shaking. Wondered where that little sunbeam had come from, before he recognized the glint of gold as the discarded pocket watch. Unthinking, without reason, Sam urged his bound hands forward, clawing through the expanse of carpet, and caught the sunbeam in his trembling fingers, dragging it close and hiding it against the foetal curl of his body.

‘Get him up.’ Footsteps and Crane’s voice sounded so far away. ‘We’re done here… just throw him off the roof and be done with it.’

Sam closed his eyes, carefully tucking the watch into his pocket with all his other failures, the secrets he could never tell, as different hands grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. _Throw him off the roof._

He smiled. What a brilliant idea.


End file.
